


Child of the Sea

by Ellenar_Ride



Series: External Links [2]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Angst, Gen, Magic, Why Link didn't speak as a child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:21:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24611434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellenar_Ride/pseuds/Ellenar_Ride
Summary: Once, a long time ago, there was a boy who did not speak. This boy was not silent of his own will; he was born with a chain around his throat and something unbreakable in his chest that blocked his words. And as he grew he dreamed of a soft golden light and gentle fingers carding through his hair, a kind woman who told him his voice was a precious thing, not to be wasted on trivial matters.
Series: External Links [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592038
Kudos: 42





	Child of the Sea

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [bloom](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24405583) by [glowingjellyfishtreelights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowingjellyfishtreelights/pseuds/glowingjellyfishtreelights). 



Once, a long time ago, there was a boy. A happy blond boy with bright blue eyes and a peculiar birthmark. This is the story of how he died.

When Link is young, he asks where he is from, because every other child is _Someone of Somewhere,_ and his parents laugh and call him a child of the road, who comes from everywhere and nowhere. _Merchant’s child,_ they say, _traveler’s son. Born from the union of road and horizon with wanderlust in your blood._ And when he is young, he accepts this statement without thought or question—his parents’ word is truth, in his eyes, and he does not need anything more. Indeed, he would not have accepted a contradicting statement after that day.

His question answered to his satisfaction, he puts it out of his mind and returns to his hunt for a glowing mushroom. If there can be glowing rocks and glowing flowers, there _can_ be a glowing mushroom, even if he’s never seen one! And he _will_ find one, he needs it for his collection book! The “glowing” category won’t be complete without one. His ma calls him back when he wanders too far from the road, and that is the end of that.

Once, a long time ago, there was a boy who did not speak. This boy was not silent of his own will—he _wanted_ to speak, his mother’s language and his father’s language and every language in between, but the words refused to come. Something trapped them in his chest, something closed his throat when they threatened to escape. Even laughter and wails had denied him, much to his dismay.

So the boy learned to speak with his hands instead of his tongue, and his parents learned to keep a hand on his back instead of lacing their fingers with his own, and the boy pretended his eternal silence did not trouble him in the slightest.

Maybe one day he would believe the lie.

When Link is young, he remembers being _everywhere._ Not all at once, of course, but he remembers seaside shacks and mountain cottages, valley villages and military towns, a lively farm in the central field his family passes through often. He’s been to the desert and the highlands and the mountains, crossed lakes and forests and plains, traveled every inch of road his home has to offer.

He grows up without the concept of a house. _Home_ means bare feet in the dust and dirt and grass and Ma’s hand on his back, wading into the river with his pants rolled up to his knees, sitting on the broad shoulders of his parents’ sturdy mare as the sunset begins to stain the sky red. _Home_ means helping Ma wash and peel vegetables for dinner, resting by the campfire while Pa tends to the mare, curling up between his parents under the stars or in the tent. _Home_ means the road beyond and behind and below, the sun on his back, and always something new waiting for his eyes.

He doesn’t think of an empty house in a village he’s never seen, haunted by memories and ghosts that refuse to go to their rest. He doesn’t think of a legacy of raised voices and shattered crockery and threats once spoken that can never be un-said. He is never subjected to the twin settings of every nightmare his parents have had for twenty years.

Once, a long time ago, there was a boy born to runaways and dreamers, a couple who always followed their hearts.

His father was a former knight who joined out of desperation and obligation but never wanted to fight, a former knight who shattered his own knee to leave the service of his king ~~(his nightmare)~~ and join his wife as a merchant.

No-one suspected a thing.

His mother was a proud daughter of the dwindling Highland Tribe, drowning in the expectations of everyone watching her, judging her every word and step, weighing her against her twin—a Gerudo warrior bloody and unbowed who dueled her own mother for the right to live as she chose and stormed out of her home to travel with her husband as a merchant.

They never got the chance to reconcile.

The boy is the blood of knights and warriors, runaways and dreamers, and he does not make a sound from the day of his birth.

When Link is young, he travels all across Hyrule and beyond with his parents as they sell their wares—his father deals in bugs and fish, his mother in plants and precious stones. Neither will have any hand in the buying or selling of weapons of any kind, though they each carry a simple sword as smart travelers do, but if you ask nicely and have the rupees to spare his mother can point you towards a man who makes wonderful custom armor. Link exclusively deals in snacks and smiles, charming customers all day long as his pare go about their business buying and selling.

Link loves settlements, love meeting new people and seeing new places, and the leaving after always makes him sad. But more than anything, he loves the sight of the road stretching out to meet the horizon, his ma’s hand on his back as he claims his future one step at a time. He is a child of the road, and nothing can ever change that.

~~But it can.~~

Once, a long time ago, there was a boy who was born with a chain of golden light wrapped around his throat. The light sunk into his skin only a moment after his birth and his parents did not notice, for his birth was a dangerous one for him and his mother both, and his father had no time for noticing anything more than his son’s strong heartbeat before tending to his wife took priority.

The faint birthmark it leaves behind is not seen until he is three years old.

When Link is young, he has friends all across Hyrule and beyond: tiny Gerudo girls and downy Rito chicks, Goron pebbles who are ignorant of their own strength and the relative frailty of other races, cheerful Hylian children and good-natured but conniving Sheikah-spawn. The one race he has no friends amongst are the Zora, whose odd developmental pace mean he is always at once too large in stature to play with those who share his mental age and too young in mind to join in with those who share his size.

A visit to Zora’s Domain when he is eight years old changes this truth. In the span of thirty minutes he manages to befriend a lonely-looking shark Zora, by way of inviting him to play a game of tag that quickly becomes a string of games instead, and his older sister, by way of not flinching at her little brother’s sharp teeth and exuberant mannerisms.

The sister shakes her head when she spots them, smiles with a dangerous relief in her eyes when her brother declares them friends, and heals their scrapes and bruises with a warm golden light that plucks at the chain around Link’s throat but cannot grasp it completely. This is how Link makes the acquaintance of Mipha and Sidon, the children of the Zora King.

Once, a long time ago, there was a boy who did not speak. This boy was not silent of his own will; he was born with a chain around his throat and something unbreakable in his chest that blocked his words. And as he grew, he dreamed of soft golden light and gentle fingers carding through his hair, a kind woman who told him his voice was a precious thing, not to be wasted on trivial matters. He did not understand, and he wept bitter, silent tears.

As he grew older the chain around his throat grew tighter, the unbreakable thing in his chest weighed him down ever more. The boy tried in vain to sever the chain and release his voice, but his every effort seemed predestined to failure. Eventually he surrendered to the hopelessness of inevitability.

He would never speak.

When Link is young, his parents leave him to play with his new friends while they go down to the lake surface to fish. They aren’t going far, and a dear friend of his ma’s agrees to keep an eye on them (as if a crown princess on the cusp of adulthood is not enough supervision for two good-hearted little boys). It’s not the first time they have left him to play while they work—he is only a little boy, and he helps where he can, but his time is more valuable packing salted and smoked fish into bags for transport back across Hyrule than down at the water.

The storm rolls in with shocking speed. It seems to take only a few moments to turn from a few dark clouds on the horizon to a heavy downpour of rain. Link isn’t terribly concerned until the wind starts picking up—his parents know how to handle a little rough weather. The first time a gust of wind almost knocks him over, he asks a guard to look for his parents.

Mipha ushers Link and Sidon inside at the first crack of thunder. She will not wait for lightning to strike nearby—scrapes and bruises are within her ability to heal, but electrocution is another matter altogether while she is still coming into her magic. When Link realizes his parents are still down on the lake in this weather, he tries to run back out. Mipha grabs him around the waist and drags him away from the door, even going so far as to remove her sash (her favorite sash, a present from her father) and wrap him in it to reduce his mobility—anything to hep her keep hold of him. She _refuses_ to allow a child to run to his death.

Link’s parents are never found. It takes a month to forgive Mipha for keeping him inside when he might have been able to help them.

(The unbreakable thing in his chest begins to crack.)

Once, a long time ago, there was a boy with an unbreakable thing in his chest, weighing down his words. When the boy was only eight years old, tragedy struck and he lost everything he had ever known and loved.

And the boy _screamed._

The unbreakable thing in his chest shattered under the weight of his grief and despair, its razor edges slicing through the skin of his throat. Red and gold mingled as hot blood and liquid light dripped down his throat and he screamed and begged and cried. He couldn’t lose them! He _wouldn’t_ lose them!

 _What would you give to have them back?_ the spun-honey voice from his dreams whispered in his ear.

 _Anything!_ the boy howled in response.

 _Would you give up your freedom?_ the winds asked, and the boy agreed.

 _Would you give up your heart?_ the earth hummed, and the boy agreed again.

 _Would you give up your life?_ the seas sang, and the boy agreed for a third time.

And the shards of the unbreakable broken thing in his chest cut deeper with each word, but the boy refused to relent. The chain of light around his throat snapped as the storm of water and light around him built to a crescendo, and he collapsed where he stood and would not wake.

 _And so you shall have them, my brave and beloved child,_ the honeyed voice said, plucking the edges of his perception like the strings of a harp as his vision turned black.

_~~But not here, and not now.~~ _

When Link is young, he loses his parents to a freak storm on a visit to Zora’s Domain. In his grief he finds his voice for the first time in his life and he begs and bargains with the Golden Goddesses to give his parents back. A deal is struck, a bargain made, and he collapses unconscious to the stone floor of the city.

He does not wake for three days. When he does, he recognizes three truths in a moment.

One: in the back of his throat, he can feel healed scars everywhere the shards of the unbreakable broken thing in his chest tore through skin. Each one tastes faintly of sweet honey-syrup magic, all down the back of his throat. There is no more weight of the unbreakable thing pressing down on his words.

Two: the chain of light around his throat is gone. It does not shut off his voice or paralyze his words any longer. It takes a few days, but he eventually realizes the faint birthmark the chain had left behind is as broken as the unbreakable thing in his chest, the link at the front of his throat simply _gone_ and the next two are warped and snapped open.

Three: he is smaller than he used to be, on the inside, and something foreign fills up the empty spaces left in his skin. It is a golden light, but not the sweet honeyed magic of his dreams. This light is older, harsher, _sharper._ It fills him up until he feels small and squashed in his skin, too big for his bones, and when he almost thinks he will burst with the pressure it burns away pieces of his heart and mind to make space for itself. It buzzes and hums when all is well, but crackles and sparks when darkness nears. These days it mostly crackles. (In the back of his mind, in the space he has left that is all _him_ and not it, he thinks once that it tastes _green.)_

(It takes longer to realize the fourth truth: his feet will no longer carry him from Zora’s Domain. At the border of their lands, he simply stops walking, even if he wishes to do otherwise. One day he convinces Mipha to carry him out from the city; the moment his feet touch the ground his mind empties out and fills with harsh light, and he is called back to the border and does not stop until he crosses the line.)

Something clatters to the floor and he looks around; Mipha gasps, stepping over the pitcher she had dropped that spills water all across the floor, and rushes to check on him as fast as her feet will carry her.

Link smiles a broken smile and imagines honey-sweet magic pooling in his mouth and dropping from his lips, imagines golden ichor and a bloody smile.

“Hello, Mipha,” he says.

Her name tastes like sunlight.

Once, a long time ago, there was a boy who was called a child of the road. This boy was born silent, his voice trapped inside his chest, until disaster and despair shattered his brittle heart and set his words free. The boy used his new words to beg and to bargain, with young Hylia and the Golden Goddesses, the earth and wind and water itself, and traded away his freedom, his heart, and his very life for the return of his parents.

In eight years, or one hundred and eight, the boy lost his heart. He stood and faced his destiny, stared it in the eye, and was the first to blink. The princess he called his friend, his charge, was lost to a century of isolation and misery, and the blame was left squarely at his own feet. (He woke from a sleep like death and looked out on the land, and the scars on his home tore themselves into his skin; his failures would follow him in every moment.)

In six years, or one hundred and eight, the boy lost his freedom. He went out from the place he called home, left the people he called his family, and he never returned. His feet drew him north, to an old forest and an older sword, and back south to the castle at the center of Hyrule; duty and desperation place him under the authority of the selfsame king his father had willfully maimed himself to escape. (He woke from a sleep like death, and every step he took was a step his feet demanded; every rest was a battle against the golden light filling up his bones.)

In a moment, or a day, or a month, or eight years, or one hundred and eight, the boy lost his life. He collapsed to the ground in the aftermath of his bargaining, and the boy who got back up three days later was not the same boy. (He faced his destiny and he failed and he _died.)_ (He woke from a deathly sleep and faced his destiny again, and he died a little more with every step he took.)

Once, a long time ago, there was a boy who was called a child of the road. This is how he dies by inches: when he wakes, Nayru of the Water has taken his very name, the name his mother gave him—he remains nameless until his caretaker gives him a new name, a Zora name; when he wakes, Din of the Earth has shattered his brittle heart and severed the ties to his honey-voiced companion—he remains lost and adrift until Mipha’s light pours into his life, giving him a new sun around which to orient himself; when he wakes, Farore of the Winds has taken his freedom, bound his feet to the pillars of Zora’s Domain with the remnants of his golden chain, carved fate and duty and _what must be_ into his bones with the shards of the unbreakable broken thing in his chest—he stays in Zora’s domain, never to wander the roads, until he is called forth by a humming in his bones that pulls him north, where Duty awaits.

When he wakes, young Hylia the Shining Goddess has hollowed him out, cut away everything that makes him _him_ and poured Courage into the vessel he has become until he can feel it from his forehead to his toes, taste it in the back of his throat where he bled honeyed magic, see it behind his eyes every time he tries to sleep.

Once, a long time ago, there was a boy. When he was young and happy, he was called a child of the road. This is the story of how he died, and how a child of the sea was born from the ashes of his memory.

(In one hundred years, a Hylian man with a shattered knee and a Gerudo woman covered in tattoos wash up on an island, frightened but unharmed. Nearly a decade later, a boy wearing their son’s face will encounter them in his lowest hour.)

**Author's Note:**

> So I originally wrote this to reconcile why my BotW Link can speak in Mending Links but was mute as a child in other stories I'm working on. Then I read _Bloom_ and it grew into something else. Somewhere along the line I adopted the "unbreakable thing"/"unbreakable broken thing" and its blocking words from a Rise of the Guardians fic over on FF (Esse's _In The Silence_ ), too. I don't even know, guys. I just think it's pretty.
> 
> Now it's back to Meeting the Broken Links. Only 9 more oneshots to go! (when did I get more than halfway through that series again?)
> 
> Oh yeah! While this fic is written to match up with Mending Links, it's technically the base of my headcanon for every version of BotW Link (which means it could technically be considered part of my Linked Universe works as well, if I ever get around to actually doing anything with those - what can I say, I'm fandom trash and having my own version of a fun AU doesn't mean I can't or won't participate in the original as well.)
> 
> Also: writing "Link" instead of "Sav" was my greatest struggle in this piece. Just so you know.


End file.
